


Call Me When You're Sober

by BADAAX



Category: Carmilla (Web Series), Carmilla - All Media Types, Carmilla - J. Sheridan Le Fanu
Genre: Alcoholism, Depression, F/F, Sexual Content, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-02
Updated: 2016-04-02
Packaged: 2018-05-30 19:26:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6437257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BADAAX/pseuds/BADAAX
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All cops face the threat of killing someone. It’s inevitable. I’ve shot suspects before, it’s kill or be killed and I will not be the cause of a colleagues injury or death. But it all changes when the person you shoot is an innocent. A victim. It changes when the person you shoot is a child. Now all I can see is the frightened eyes of that little girl who trusted me to save her, instead I stole her life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Call Me When You're Sober

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all once again! 
> 
> I am mercifully back after a forced PhD related absence, with what I hope will be the start of more regular uploading. 
> 
> This story once again deals with a lot of heavy themes, because apparently I don't like doing anything the easy way, it's also written in first POV, which some folk might find annoying, but it was really the only way for me to tell this story right. Also I will say to those Evanescence fans out there who are savvy enough to realise I've borrowed a song title for the story title, I do have an imagination I just really like this line. 
> 
> I have to thank [Think Im Sick](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Think_Im_Sick) from Ao3 for inspiring to me actually write again after reading their super awesome Carmilla Superwoman AU [Kryptonite](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6436921). A story I heartily recommend even if the word Kryptonite took me a couple of attempts to spell. 
> 
> As always this story does not intend to cause offence to anyone. All situations appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblances to real life events are purely coincidental.

_Six months after_  

It’s a cliché. The expression rock bottom. It’s a stupid, damn cliché that really when you think about it makes no sense. While we’re on the subject the English language is another thing that makes very little sense. For example did you know that the expression ‘rock bottom’ can be both an adjective and a noun?

_Adjective_

_Adjective: rock-bottom_

  1. At the lowest possible level.



"My life is at rock bottom" 

_Noun_

_Noun: rock bottom; plural noun: rock bottoms_

  1. The lowest possible level.



"The morale is at rock bottom"

Either way both these meanings fit. Though they don’t make as much sense as the cold, sweating glass curled between shaking fingers. Those trembling digits belong to me, and in another five or so minutes the glass will be on the floor and its amber contents will be gone, swallowed by a greedy tongue and a ‘desperate to forget it all’ soul.

I wasn’t always this way, afraid, unsure, always second-guessing myself. Once, a long time ago I was the epitome of confident. I was going to save the world, one perp at a time. The ever eager beat cop who worked her way up the ranks to the roll of gritty detective. I was the ultimate cliché.

Every morning that I slipped on my badge and strapped on my gun I became a new person, a better one. Yes the world was horrible and I have seen things no mortal should ever have to, the sad life of a homicide detective. But I prided myself on my ability to remain above it.

All that changed though. It changed in the most horrific of ways and now I can’t see straight, I can’t see past the need to fill my glass with a new mistress and hope that she carries me once more into the bosom of unconsciousness. It’s the only way I sleep anymore, the only way I can without reliving the past and wishing that the bullet had killed me instead.

All cops face the threat of killing someone. It’s inevitable. I’ve shot suspects before, it’s kill or be killed and I will not be the cause of a colleagues injury or death. But it all changes when the person you shoot is an innocent. A victim. It changes when the person you shoot is a child. Now all I can see is the frightened eyes of that little girl who trusted me to save her, instead I stole her life.

The ice in the glass clinks as I raise it to my lips. The whisky burns on the way down, but I welcome the numbing fire it brings. My hand slips into my pocket, seeking the other balm to my pain. The other part of my poison. My head drops onto the back of the couch, the smooth leather creaking beneath me as I settle into something resembling a relaxed posture. But that’s all it is, postulating. I can only pretend now.

I refill my empty glass from the bottle that remains loyally at my side and my five minutes are almost up. I pull my hand from my pocket, fresh venom clutched in my hand and raise it with a shaking arm to my head.

My phone is cool and sleek against my ear, and I barely recognize the sounds of the dialing tone before my call is answered.

 _“Hello?”_   The voice asks, and instantly a lazy smile curls onto my lips. The first smile I’ve allowed myself in weeks. I’ve forgotten how to just be me, now all I’ve got is apathy.

 _“Hey,”_ I exhale and the intake of breath on the other side settles my nerves even further. I shouldn’t leave it so long between calls but I’ve got nothing left to offer. _“I’ve missed you cutie,”_ I tell the room, the phone, the world, my voice trembling as my eyes start to close.

My caller sighs, it’s heavy and a little sad but I tell myself that it’s a good thing. Except I know it’s not.

 _“This has got to stop Carm, you can’t go on like this. It isn’t fair on yourself,”_ The voice pauses and I wait, I’m always waiting and will always wait. _“It isn’t fair on me_. _You need to get some help Carmilla and I don’t think I can be the one to do that anymore. Not when you go three weeks without calling.”_

 _“I’m calling you now though cupcake, that has to mean something?”_ I’m slurring my words, I can hear it, but everything is swimming and I feel like I’m sinking further underwater. I barely acknowledge the thud of the glass hitting the carpeted floor or the rush of air as I slip sideways on the couch.

 _“That’s just it Carm. You never call me when you’re sober, not anymore, not for a long while. I deserve better than this, you told me yourself that you wouldn’t be another mistake that you wouldn't be like my mom or my ex. Please honey, I love you, but I can’t be yours to command and call whenever you’re drunk. Let me in or let me go, it’s your choice now. I love you, please be safe,”_ Her voice trembles before she cuts off. The call ending and leaving me feeling even number in ways the whisky could never manage.

I’ve done this every time I’ve had a bad day, called her when I couldn’t handle it and she’s always answered. Always told me she loves me. But this is the first time she’s asked me to let her go. Six months ago, I would have revolted at the very notion. Now, it seems like the only option available.

My eyes fix on the photographs on the walls, the ones she took and printed and put into frames and stuck up for me. I can still hear her voice, laughing as she slipped her arms around my waist and pressed warm kisses to my neck. _This place is so cold, good thing you’ve got me to warm it up now_. It was the cheesiest thing anybody has ever said to me and at the time I couldn’t get enough of it. Now, the pictures are a painful reminder of the person I’ll never be again. 

My last coherent thought before I fall into merciful unconsciousness is that _I’m sorry Laura, I’m sorry that I ruined everything._ And ruined it I have.

 

 _Six months earlier_  

 

“Shit. Fucking hell Karnstein are you okay?” I can barely hear the agitated words of my partner, all I can hear is the gunshot. _The gunshot_. The one that has just blown my world apart.

Danny grabs my shoulder and twirls me to face her. Her face is so pale it clashes horribly with her red hair and in another life, one that existed just thirty short minutes ago I would have mocked her for it. But instead the sympathy and the fear in her eyes makes the twisting in my stomach excel to epic proportions.

A moment later and I’m staggering away from her, my arm bracing me against a wall as my classic cop cliché dinner of stale coffee and two day old donut makes itself known again, although it no longer resembles anything edible. I hear the angry muttering of the CSI guys but I don’t give two shits about them, and neither does Danny Lawrence, who tells them none too kindly to go fuck themselves. Her words, not mine, though the sentiment is mirrored.

Her hand presses against my back in an uncharacteristic show of solidarity and it’s in that moment I recognize just how badly I’ve fucked up. She places her own jacket around my shaking shoulders and it’s with numb detachment that I let her lead me out of the dilapidated apartment that is now a burgeoning crime scene.

I barely remember the drive to the precinct. I can just about remember LaFontaine, resident ME and genius, pulling themselves from their crypt to come and offer their support. Their partner in all things Lola Perry already waiting with two steaming cups of shockingly fresh coffee for Danny and I. News travels fast in the cop world, but I really, really wish it didn’t because I can’t stand the looks of pity flashing in their eyes.

I accept the coffee from Perry, I sip at it because that seems like the normal thing to do, but I don’t taste it, I don’t feel the heat coming from it. Danny leads me to the Captain’s office for a debriefing and I know what’s going to happen. IA will get involved and I’ll most likely have to surrender my badge and my gun until after the investigations done. Internal Affairs can be prickly bastards at the best of times but I know they’re only doing it to keep us safe.

Captain Belmonde assures me that she believes I followed every procedure correctly. That she has my back no matter what. She even tells me well done for stopping a homicidal father on his killing spree. But it does little to make me feel better when I know the only two bullets I fired hit their mark.

One bullet hit the maniac father who had killed a mail clerk, a shop assistant and his ex wife before kidnapping his three children and holding them hostage in a known drug den. It doesn't make me feel better to know that I killed him and put an end to his spree. It can’t, not when the second bullet I fired hit his seven-year-old daughter he was using as a shield. No, that doesn't make me feel better at all.

Mattie asks me almost reluctantly for my gun and badge when Detective Melanippe Callis from IA shows up to question me. Mel is pretty solid as far as IA goes, and I can tell she’s just as uncomfortable asking me her questions as I am at answering them. Two hours later she releases me from the interview room with a promise to get to the bottom of this case as quickly as she can.

Mattie dismisses me with a sad shake of her head and a firm order for Danny to drive me home, despite my protesting. I’m still numb twenty minutes later when I finally struggle with the lock on my apartment door. It sticks, and I’ve been meaning to change it for ages but I always forget. I’m just about to kick the damn door in frustration when it swings open and I am all but swallowed by a 5 foot 2 inches ball of human warmth.

Laura Hollis has this way of making me feel like a giant, even though I’m only a couple of inches taller than her. It’s always made me feel great and right now it’s doing its job perfectly. Her arms wrap around my waist and she clutches on to me like she’s drowning and I’m the only thing that’s floating in the storm.

I hear the door slam shut behind us, the dull thud of my bag hitting the wooden floor and the soft sniffling that is Laura Hollis in my arms. For the first time since I entered that apartment and pulled the trigger on my gun, I feel something other than blank and empty.

I feel weary **.** I feel wounded. I feel desperate and alone and filled with guilt. But most of all I feel alive and whether or not I think that’s a good thing is irrelevant, right now all that matters is the heat of my girlfriend in my arms and the absence of my numbness. Even if it’s only for a moment.

“How?” I begin pushing Laura back so I can cup her face between my hands relief that she exists and that she’s alive and in my life in the first place driving me to touch her, own her, possess her.

“LaF called, and Perry and Danny and hell even Mattie. I used the key you gave me and let myself in. I wanted to go to the station to wait but Danny told me to wait for you here instead, I, I hope that was okay?” Laura stutters over her words and it’s endearing and adorable and her concern for me is so welcome and heartfelt that tears spring to my eyes and it takes every ounce of me not to let them fall. I wish I could tell her how much her presence means to me. But I don’t have the words. Right now I have no words to speak, I only have a need to feel and to feel her.

I draw her lips to mine, feeling them trembling first with fear and concern before it morphs and changes into something more real, something infinitely more feral. I devour her mouth whole, sucking on her lips, her tongue, bathing her mouth in my own reverence and stealing what strength she has left. She moans, it’s a pained sound filled with need and desire and suddenly that’s the only thing I can focus on.

My hands cup her ass, and she yelps as I lift her upwards, her legs wrapping around my waist. I whirl around and slam her back against the door, if she recognizes the pain or my rough treatment of her she doesn't protest. She simply grabs my hair and pulls my lips to her jaw and her neck.

I mark her, it’s barbaric and almost animal this need to assert myself, to remind her of who she belongs to. But in this moment she is the only certainty I have of who I am, of who I have left in the world.

“Carm, stop, wait,” She pants suddenly, dragging my face away from her collarbone. Our chests expand in tandem, sharing breaths and beating hearts my body holding her hostage against the door. My thigh is pressed firmly between her legs, and the heat of her is impossible against my jeans. “Are you sure about this? I don’t want to take advantage. Do you need to talk?”

“No, no talking,” I growl, that savage creature is all that I am now. I lean forward and nip at her collarbone, her body trembling with need beneath my teeth. “I need to feel you. Please.” I manage a few more syllables before all I can focus on is the way the vein in her neck pulses with every frantic beat of her heart and the heat of her skin against mine. I need her naked, beneath me, I need her to feel because I’m not sure I can anymore.

“Then take me to the bedroom, because you are not fucking me against this door,” Laura says and if I wasn’t wet enough before now I am a fucking geyser. Laura only swears during sex, the rest of the time her cussing is cutsey and adorable. But there is real need in her voice and in her eyes and I know she understands just how desperate I am right now. I love this woman. I really do.

I lower her to the floor, my hands remaining firmly planted on her hips. She leads the way to the only bedroom in my small, but comfortable apartment, and the beast inside of me purrs happily at the thought of what is to come. Laura flips on the bedside lamp as we enter the room, drawing her own hand picked flannel bed sheets back as I finally relinquish my hold on her.

I pause in the doorway, shoulders heaving, heart thumping as she slowly strips out of her work clothes. Her soft pin striped blue shirt hits the floor and exposes a simple white bra that sends my stomach fluttering. Her fingers make quick work of her pants and when she finally reclines back on my bed I swear I’m dripping I’m that ready for her.

She watches me watching her, her tongue escaping her mouth to lick at kiss swollen lips and it’s all I need to get me moving into action once more. I stride across the room to her, peeling of my sweat soaked clothing as I go.

I slide myself between her legs, pressing my naked front to her still underwear covered body. I kiss her again, rocking our lower bodies together and delighting in the small whimpers I pull from her lips.

In a frenzy of movement I stripe her out of her remaining clothing, then I’m back on her, pressing my hips between hers, my fingers pushing between our bodies grinding my center into the back of my wrist my hand pumping in and out of her in a steady rhythm that I know from joyful experience makes her crazy.

She comes with a pained gasp of my name and I follow her in to ecstasy not because I want to but because my body craves feeling, the feelings she provides. I slump in her arms, my body shaking in her embrace and for the first time since I was a bumbling teenager loosing my virginity I cry after making love.

Laura holds me close, rubs my sweat covered back and whispers sweet things in my ears. She tells me she loves me that she’ll always be here for me, that she’ll never let me go. We fall asleep that way, wrapped in each others warmth and I tell myself that everything is going to be okay.

It’s not.

I wake a few hours later, shaking from a dream filled with gunshots and frightened young eyes that morph into Laura’s just as the bullet leaves my gun. I pull myself from our bed, sliding into my discarded clothing, feeling nothing but hate for myself buried in my gut. I cover Laura with the sheet, wishing I could smile at her faint mumbling and the way she looks so cute turning to hug my pillow.

I leave the room, go to the cabinet in the kitchen where I store the hard liquor and spend the rest of the night drowning my sorrows with Jack D. Laura greets me in the morning with a soft kiss and sad eyes and I want her to be mad at me so I don’t have to be. But there is nothing but understanding on her face. She leaves for work and I don’t call her for three days. I ignore every phone call, every rap on my door, I leave my key in the lock so she can’t get in.

When I finally do reach out to her again, I’m completely wasted. I beg her to come over and she does and once again she lets me lose myself in her touch. It’s sloppy and awful and I wake in the morning feeling guilty as hell and even worse because I’m so hung-over. But Laura stays and that means so much to me. I promise to never call her when I’m drunk again. It’s the first of many promises I break.

 

 _Five months and 2 days earlier_  

 

Mel and the guys in IA clear me of any wrong doing almost 1 month after the fact. It’s a hollow victory and we all know it. But a session with the department shrink a day later gets me my gun and badge back. I don’t tell him about the nightmares or the guilt that plagues me. It’s standard procedure after a shooting and I know how to play the game, dammit we all do.

That night Danny and the others take me out to celebrate. My heart’s not in it but it feels good to be back amongst the people who understand. Cops don’t talk about things, it’s just one of those unwritten rules and here I feel no pressure to break them.

But predictably as of late I drink far too much, far too quickly and when I call Laura to come and bring me home, she’s not exactly ecstatic to see me. That night we don’t have sex, I can tell she’s relieved and I know she doesn't exactly enjoying making love to a person who emotionally isn’t there but I don’t know how else to connect to her. 

I pass out after one final drink and when I wake up groggy and sore headed the next morning Laura is already gone. I have just enough of a detective in me to recognize that her usual side of the bed has been left untouched. I’m not sure how to feel about that so I decide not to feel anything. I just crawl into the shower with the hope that when I immerge I might feel more human. It sadly doesn't work.

 

_Three months and 1 week earlier_

 

I can count the amount of times I’ve seen Laura over the past two months on one hand. Coincidently I can count the amount of times I’ve been sober each night over the past two months on one hand as well. It requires the use of zero fingers.

I know Laura is trying. Trying to understand, trying to be patient. But from seeing each other practically everyday to going almost cold turkey, it’s starting to push at her and it’s not fair.

I’m not a fool, or naïve or just deluded. I know what I’m doing isn’t healthy. I’ve spiraled into a depressive fog and the harder I try to fight through it the thicker and denser it becomes. It’s a poisonous miasma that fills my lungs like lead and leaves me breathless. When I sleep I dream, I dream of children laughing and a maniac father’s crazed eyes and a small girl frightened beyond anything conceivable. Every time I close my eyes I shoot her, I feel the weight of the gun, the smell of blood and death that’s become engrained in my mind and every single time that girls face morphs into Laura’s as she dies. It’s like my subconscious is telling me I’m a murderer and eventually I’ll drag Laura down with me. Beautiful, shining Laura who has been nothing but patient and supportive.

I met Laura through Danny, a fact that she still holds over me today. They’d briefly dated in college before deciding that they were better friends, much to my eternal relief. I’m not ashamed to admit that Laura’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I grew up in the foster system, eventually being fostered by a domineering woman and her son. There is no love lost between us, but I am grateful for the opportunities she gave me. But Laura is all mine, a choice I made, and she loves me despite my flaws.

The most heartbreaking and soul-destroying thing about that fateful night three months ago is that it hasn’t just messed up my life, its messed up Laura’s. I was going to ask her to marry me; I wasn’t even scared about it because how could I be when I’d found my soul mate? But now, now I can’t sleep without drinking and I’m terrified of hurting Laura further. It’s all changed, and it’s all my damn fault.

“Karnstein we’ve got a case,” Danny’s brisk shout breaks me out of my morose thoughts, I fix my face into something resembling interest and leave my desk behind. I follow her silently, letting her drive without a fight and fixing my gaze out the window. The silence between us is awkward and stretches uncomfortably. She doesn't know how to speak to me, she see’s the differences in me, and she’s talked to Laura. She knows my hands shake if I don’t have a drink for more than twelve hours but she doesn't know how to bring it up. She’s like me, a cop, we don’t do feelings.

“So uh, Hollis called me last night,” Danny begins talking hesitantly, using Laura’s surname instead of her first name in some misguided attempt at breaking us in gently. I say nothing, the streets blur past but I see only pain.

“She want’s to make sure you’re coming to the party tonight. You know LaF and Perry’s anniversary one? She ah, she said she tried calling you last night but she didn’t get through.” At Danny’s words, I think back to last night, I vaguely remember the dive bar I found, driving home so drunk I forgot to lock the car doors when I made it to my apartment and then barely making it through my own front door before I passed out in the hallway. I woke up this morning sore and stiff as hell and still not sure it was worth it. I had 6 missed calls, 7 text messages and 2 voicemails from a penitent Laura, who apologized profusely in every single one for bothering me while I was on a case. Guilt sufficiently tripled I couldn't find the heart in me to reply.

“I’ll be there,” I tell Danny because I miss Laura, and the old me, and because it’s a party and as loathe as I am to admit my need, there will be alcohol, and that’s really the only thing that’s keeping me going anymore.

That night I show up an hour late, once again ignoring Laura’s calls. I’ve already had a couple of double scotches to get me moving, and with liquid courage in my veins it’s easier to fake normalcy. Laura looks like a million bucks tonight, like the stars in the night sky on a clear day and you can’t help but stare and be swallowed up in the magnificence of it all. The smile when she sees me is absolute and pure, it stretches the muscles in her cheeks and her eyes become two flashing beacons of hope in the world. But then the memory of my dreams takes me in full force and those eyes become lifeless and dead beneath my fingers.

I detour to the bar before I can question myself as to why. I order another double, knocking it back with a practiced ease but the stiffness in my shoulders and the ache in my heart only eases when a warm, solid arm slides around my waist and the smell of strawberries and chocolate invades my senses. Laura’s touch is sure and steady, and in that moment all that I need to ground me.

“Hey Carm, I didn’t think you were going to make it,” She whispers into my ear and her warm breath washes over my skin in a familiar embracing caress. I turn in her arms, seeking more of her warmth and find myself lost in her kiss. She presses her mouth against mine, and just like her arms, it’s a comfort, she slips her tongue over my lips tracing the contours of my mouth and pulls back. Her smile is soft, sweet and so filled with warmth; my humming veins can’t help but see the fervor in it.

If Laura tastes the liquor on my tongue or sees the glassiness in my eyes she doesn't mention it. Laura doesn’t drink, her mother was an alcoholic and Laura vowed never to touch the stuff. I admire her so much for it, for not bending to peer pressure and still enjoying herself without needing a vice. Unless you count chocolate chip cookies, in which case she does have a problem. Her ex-girlfriend used to berate her for it, telling her she was weird and needed to get over herself. But how could I ever think that? She’s perfect the way she is, stubborn flaws and all, hell it’s not like I’m a paragon of virtue _. Especially not recently_.

I let Laura fold herself into my embrace and it feels good, normal to hold her this close. For the rest of the night we stay touching, reconnecting because I haven’t been around and Laura knows I’m struggling and would never call me out on it. I pretend to not see the worried look in her eyes or the glances she shares with our friends as I down drink after drink.

A few hours later, I’m well past inebriated, but still doing my best to hide it. Laura comes home with me, and I join her on my couch with one last drink. She tells me about her life, about the things I’ve missed, how much she’s enjoying teaching this semester. Laura lectures at the university, and the stories she tells about students always have us questioning the youth of today. I make what I hope are the right noises in response to her words, but a combination of drink and guilt at missing so much of her life recently make it hard to focus.

Instead I touch her, running fingers along her bare arms, leaning forward to taste the skin on her neck, reveling in the way she opens up for me, like a flower petal in the sun she undulates towards me. I try to stay in control, but I’m drunk and loosing myself, my hands reach for her, fingers almost desperate in my need to feel connected to something.

I tug at her lip with my teeth and she moans, her hands pressing at my waist and my hips. It takes me too long to realize that she’s not begging me to take her, she’s asking me to stop. I pull back, hazy with desire and utterly intoxicated and the look of frustration and mingling sadness on Laura’s face is enough to undo me.

“I won’t make love with you when you’re drunk,” She says breathlessly, gorgeous brown eyes lidded with the lingering sensations my hands and lips provided. She tugs down her shirt, which I hadn’t realized I’d shoved over her breasts, I just have enough presence of mind to notice the cups on her bralette are damp, I can barely remember putting my mouth there, but the vague recollection of her hard nipples beneath soft cotton scares me. I am wild, and hungry for her and for solace, but I’ve frightened myself, if she hadn’t stopped me, what on earth could I have done? But like the drunken fool I am, I use my own insecurities to fuel my anger.

“I don’t want to make love Laura, I want to fuck,” I say, staggering to my feet, heart aching at the look of hurt flashing across her face. She slowly climbs to her feet as well, silently pulling up the zipper on her jeans and redoing the button that I have no memory of undoing. She deserves better than just a quick tumble but I’m embarrassed and too damn ashamed to admit it. Instead I make it her problem.

“I’m sorry Carm, but you know how I feel about this,” She says so softly I can barely hear her. She trembles, rubs her hands over goose pimpled flesh and I long to bring her into my embrace and keep her close. But. I don’t.

“I think you should go Laura,” I hear myself say, my voice muted as if I’m underwater. I go through the motions, walking to the kitchen counter in the open planned living area, lifting down a half empty bottle of scotch and pouring it into a dirty glass with a shaking hand. I don’t watch her gathering her things, shame burns through my gut and the heat behind my eyes is an insistent monster. 

She comes close, hesitates beside me before she leans forward. Her lips are soft against my cheek, and her hand is warm against the small of my back.

“I love you, so much,” she whispers against my skin and it takes all that I have not to turn to her, but I’ve fucked up big time and yet she’s still the one comforting me. “Please call me,” She tells me, slipping from my side and leaving my apartment. I don’t call her back, though every thing in me tells me to chase her down and keep her close. But I can’t. Instead I knock back my drink, shuffle to the couch and drink myself into a stupor, anything to forget the mess I’m making of everything. Life wasn’t supposed to go this way.

 

_Three months and 3 weeks earlier_

 

I don’t call her for 2 weeks, and when I do, it’s not to tell her I’m sorry and that I’m going to get help. It’s to ask her to pick me, because the bartender confiscated my keys and I’ve got no money to pay for a taxi. She barely speaks on the way home, and even though she’s quiet I can tell just how angry she is, her jaw clenches and the hollowness in her eyes kills me. I put that there, but at least it looks more familiar now, it’s the lifelessness in my dreams. 

My nightmares are slowly becoming real.

_Two months and 2 weeks earlier_

 

I’ve called Laura three times this month, three times she’s come to see me and three times she’s cried without thinking I’ve seen her do it.

The first time I called it was because I crashed my car into a wall. She helped call the insurance people and sighed through her disappointment. The next day Danny berated me for my stupidity, citing how lucky I was that I didn’t hit anyone else. She didn't tell me anything I didn’t already know.

The second time the phone made its way into my hand was because I was let out of work early for drinking on the job. Mattie was not pleased, but threw me a bone because it was a first time offense. She sent me home with an order to ‘get my shit together before thinking about coming back’. I took that as an excuse to drink myself sick, finally calling Laura in tears because I was terrified I’d messed up my career, and because I’d ran out of alcohol on my journey to understanding why in the first place.

The third time I called, I asked for help, not because I was admitting I had a problem, but because staying at home was driving me up the walls and I needed to prove to Mattie that I was ready to come back to work. I knew she’d asked Danny, who’d ask Laura if I’d stopped drinking, so I selfishly called my girlfriend knowing she’d come, because that’s just who she was. My hero. I went 2 whole days without drinking, Laura held me while I shook and sweated and thrashed for a drink. But hell I got through it. She kissed me, told me how proud she was of me and I felt like shit because I was only using her for an alibi.

Mattie let me come back to work and I stopped drinking during the day. Nighttime’s were a different matter though, I went back to the nightmares and every time I woke the only way to get back to sleep was to drink it off. 

I didn’t call Laura again. I couldn’t. She deserved better and I didn’t want to admit that I’d failed her again.

 

_Six months and 1 week after._

 

 _Let me in or let me go, it’s your choice now. I love you, please be safe._ Laura’s words play on repeat, just like they have done since she uttered them a whole week ago. Six months have passed since I fucked up my life, and I know that it’s been my own doing. No one asked me to find my peace in the bottom of a bottle, or to push away the best thing that’s ever happened to me even though she was willing to help.

I want to let her in, but I’m a coward and a liar and I know I’m going to let her go. I wish I could find some resolve, some strength to set down the razor blade I’m walking on and just let myself breathe again. But guilt and fear are powerful motivators and I’m struggling to free myself from their grasps.

I’m still thinking about Laura’s ultimatum when Danny spots our murder suspects making a run for it. We’re both out of the car and chasing them before I can let my mind catch up. I feel sick to my stomach, and my nerves alight with fear. The two men we’re chasing split up at the end of the disgusting, rubbish strewn alley we’re following down and without stopping we unconsciously agree to split up. Danny takes the right path and I go left.

A frantic 30 seconds later the suspect and I both realize it’s a dead end, and the guy has no-where to go. He turns to face me, gun in his hand, fear and desperation written all over his face.

I pull my own weapon, shaking hands raising it to chest height and I hear myself screaming at him to lower his weapon or I’ll shoot. He doesn't and I know what I have to do. 6 months ago I wouldn’t have hesitated, but 6 months ago I didn’t know the horror and sorrow of killing a child.

I freeze where I stand and he doesn't. The sound of his trigger igniting is loud and startling but the pain that rips through my shoulder is even more so. I fall to the ground, gun held in a limp grip and I can only watch in transfixed horror as the suspect flees past me leaving me broken and bleeding on the dirty rubbish strewn ground.

A patrolman finds me, and the world is just one big disjointed blur as the paramedics rush to my side, and my ruined shoulder aches and bleeds. Danny rides with me to the hospital, my numb detachment playing second fiddle to the thought that this is how that little girl felt when I hit her in the chest. She didn’t die instantly, she bleed out in a matter of minutes and when I dream I can still hear the gurgling of blood in her lungs.

I’m admitted that night for surgery; the bullet fragmented some bone and splintered in the soft tissue. One operation later and my shoulder is still a mess, but at least the morphine they have me on knocks me out better than any drink ever could. When I wake up in the middle of the night, the darkness frightens me, but the warmth of a steady hand wrapped around my own soothes my fears.

Laura sleeps by my side, even in slumber stress is written on her beautiful features and I swallow against the anguish that I’m the cause of her pain. I know in that moment what I have to do, and although it will kill me to do so it’s not fair to keep Laura tethered at my side.

I don’t sleep again that night, I don’t press the button on the little white controller that controls the morphine release. I welcome the pain and the awareness it brings and for the first time in 6 months I can breathe again. I watch Laura, memorizing her face, and the feel of her skin against mine and when she finally wakes, her nose twitching and her eyelids fluttering my heart is set.

“Hey, are you okay? Oh god Carm I was so scared,” She is barely even awake before she is tripping over her questions. She pushes herself stiffly to her feet, and I know she has to be sore from lying in an uncomfortable chair all night but she did it for me and that makes me smile. The first genuine one I’ve felt in months.

“I’m okay Laura, I’m sorry I worried you,” I breathe her name like it’s sacred and even she watches me like I’ve gone mad. I sound like the old me, calm, coherent and alive. She leans towards me, seeking my assurance and her hand rests against my forehead as she tries to cradle me close.

“That was the worst phone call I’ve ever had to take, even worse than when my mom died,” she sniffs, her eyes wet with tears. My fingers find hers, entwining, connecting, establishing bonds I’d made myself forget existed. I pull her to me, letting her rest on the bed, her head against my good shoulder and my arm firmly around her. It feels good to hold her close and to be aware that I’m doing it. I regret the way I’ve treated her over the last 6 months, but the choices I’ve to make now and the decisions I’ve come too can’t change because of how I feel about her. She deserves better. I know this to be true.

“Laura, you know I love you,” I begin, voice quiet but resigned. She trembles against me and tightens her hold on my waist and I know, as she does, that something inevitable is coming. “I’ve made so many mistakes over the past 6 months, and you’ll never know how sorry I am for the hurt I’ve caused you or how grateful I am for your unwavering support.”

I pause to breathe in the scent of her skin and to luxuriate in the feel of her soft hair against my cheek and when I speak again, it’s with a throat thick with unshed tears and a heart that’s breaking.

“You told me, that I had to let you in or to let you go, but you don’t understand, there is no me left to let you into anymore. I love you so much, but getting shot, seeing you here, it’s all put it into perspective. If I ever want to get well, then I have to let you go, because keeping you here trapped with me is killing us both,” I say the words, forcing them out through reluctant lips and when she gasps my name and sobs in my arms I know she understands. Fuck. I never wanted this to happen but what damn choice do I have.

“I never wanted to be a mistake Laura, I only wanted to make you happy and I haven’t been very good at doing that. But it’s time for you to go, we both know I’m not what you need anymore,” I can’t speak, because it hurts too bad and the world is breaking up around us and I’m floundering in the storm and Laura is slipping through my fingers like smoke. 

She finally leaves my side, an hour later, both of us ragged and raw and ripped at the edges and the finality hanging in the air makes me sick. She leans close, presses soft lips to my own and whispers _I love you_ into my soul. She walks out of my life without a backward glance but I can’t forget the way she shook and cried and wept in my arms and once again I have to fight the urge to chase after her. That’s one thing I won’t do again to her, I won’t chase after her, even though she took my broken heart with her, I’m pretty sure I can live without it.

 

_9 months and 3 weeks later_

 

It’s my first day back to work since the shooting and one compulsory trip to the department shrink finds me on limited desk duty. That’s okay though, Danny spends the first hour lamenting the rookie they saddled her with, and happily informing me that she’s left me a mountain of paperwork to keep me busy.

When she invites me out with the guys that night I decline my invite. I know the get together is for me, to celebrate my survival and to remind everyone of their own mortality but I can’t go. I can’t put myself in a place of temptation and I’ve been doing so well, I can’t fall back into the black hole I’ve clawed my way out of.

Danny understands, I think, it’s hard to tell though, she’s uncharacteristically quiet for the rest of the day but I don’t call her out on it. I long to ask her about Laura, to know how she’s doing, to know if she’s okay. But I don’t. It’s been three months since we parted ways and although a day hasn't gone by when I don’t think about her, I know it was the right thing to do.

I’ve made changes, acknowledged uncomfortable truths about myself and although the nightmares haven’t gone away and the urge to drown my sorrows hasn't abated. The therapist I’ve gone to see has assured me that this is perfectly normal and that with time I’ll not feel the same horror and hollowness that I do now.

I wish more than anything I’d done things differently, been a better person and a stronger person sooner. Then maybe I wouldn’t have fucked up so badly, but the pictures on my walls in my apartment that I can’t find the courage to take down tell me that I once had the world and having it was better than never having it at all. It’s a lot of _what ifs_ and _could have beens_ but it doesn't change the fact that I let myself spiral into the deep and hurt the only person who cared enough to spiral down with me.

So no. I won’t ask Danny about Laura, because although I long to know, its too hard being without her as it is.

Danny brings me home that night, and remains quiet, the silence doesn't bother me, it never has, but I wonder about the words I know she’s purposely not speaking. When she pulls up outside my apartment building, her hand on my arm stops me just as I’m about to leave the car.

“She’s a mess. She won’t ever admit to it, and she pretends otherwise but she’s just going through the motions,” Danny doesn't elaborate on who ‘she’ is but we both know that I know just exactly who she’s talking about. My broken heart, shudders into life, one frail beat after another sounding in my chest. “Call her Karnstein, I can see it in your eyes that you’re just as unhappy as she is.”

She releases my arm and I struggle out of the car. No, I wouldn't ask Danny how she was but damn Clifford for telling me anyway. I was happy kidding myself that I didn’t need her anymore.

That night I sit in my apartment and for the first time in 3 months I take out a bottle of Jack. I sit with it in front of me, empty glass ready and waiting beside it, but I don’t drink. I hold my phone in my hand, thumb hovering over the name I so long to call, the word _cupcake_ flashes beneath me and I can still remember the feel of her in my arms and the smile on her face when I entered the room.

I’ve changed though. I’m not the same person she fell in love with and I’m not sure that I want to be anymore. This past year has been a journey and I’ve learnt that even through tragedy and guilt, there’s still strength to be found. I just wish I’d discovered that sooner.

But the thought of Laura, unhappy and alone makes my resolve weaken and in this moment I finally let myself believe that maybe it doesn't have to be all or nothing. I’m not the same me, but I still believe she deserves better and that I can love her enough to give that to her. I’m still a coward and a liar but I don’t want to be. It’s maybe those convictions that give me the courage to press her name.

My insides squirm as the display changes to indicate I’m making a call. I raise the phone to my ear, breathe deep and wait. The irony that this is the first time in 9 months that I’ve called her sober doesn't escape me, but the pride that I’m able to do it is more intoxicating than the cold liquor that was just a placebo.

“Hello? This is Laura speaking, can I ask who’s calling?” Her voice startles me along with the crushing realization that she doesn't know it’s me on the other end. She’s obviously deleted my number, deleted me right out of her life and I regret ever listening to Danny _fucking_ Lawrence. I say anything, I can’t, I’m frozen and heartsick and so fucking stupid.

“Hello?” She asks again, this time bewilderment entering her voice. I long for the days when she breathed my name _Carm_ instead of a hello and it was the one sound I craved most in the world along with her saying I love you and the way she cried out when she came for me.

“Laura,” I speak without meaning to, the memories of her body and her hands on me and mine on hers catapulting me into uttering her name with all the reverence it deserves.

“C-Carm?” She gasps and I feel rather than hear the shock radiating through the distance between us. I can’t tell if the sudden stunned silence between us is a good thing or not, but it at least gives me the courage to keep on going, no matter what happens next. It feels good to be alive, embarrassed, but alive.

“Yeah cupcake, it’s me. Ah-I, I’m not sure why I’m calling, I guess I just wanted to hear your voice and to make sure you were okay,” I say something, stringing together words and hoping that I’m making since.

“Carmilla, _gods_ , I can’t believe it’s you, every time the phone rings I hope it’s you, which is stupid I know because we’re not together, but still I think it. How are you? Are you okay? How’s your shoulder? Did you go back to work?” Laura rambles and I can’t help but smile. She’s still that adorable creampuff who’s the most awkward person I know. 

“I’m okay Laura, everything is okay now,” I speak the words with as much conviction as I can, because according to my therapist, self-belief is important. Laura sniffs on the other end, and I know she’s crying. It’s a sound that breaks my heart and I long to reach down the phone and hold her close. The past three months mean nothing now, its like we never parted.

“I’ve missed you so much, you took a part of me with you, but I’m so very glad you called. I want to see you,” She breathes her request on the back of her tears and just like always I am helpless to her. 

“I want to see you too,” I tell her and this time I don’t need to force the conviction. I’ve never been more honest about anything in my life. Laura laughs, a wet sound of relief and pure delight and I close my eyes silently thanking Danny _fucking_ Lawrence for her meddling. It’s a start and I’ll take anything I can get.

 

_9 months, 3 weeks and one day later_

 

We meet at my apartment the following evening. I act the perfect gentlewoman, I take her coat and I graciously invite her into my home, heart soaring at the smile she gives to the photo frames of us on the walls. She sets down her bag and phone on the kitchen counter, starring around the room as if this is the first time she’s seen it.

We find it hard to connect at first, both of us unsure how to bridge the gaps and ask the questions we’re desperate for answers too. I start with an honest, yet difficult declaration. When I tell her I’ve been 3 months sober, she cries, a mixture of relief and pride and when she opens her arms to me we come together in a collision so strong she’s not the only one in tears.

She tells me how much she’s missed me, how miserable she’s been and how worried for me she’s been. We sit on the couch together, our fingers entwined and our thighs pressed against the other. It feels familiar, but new all at the same time, like the trials of the past have hardened us but made it all the more sweeter.

We fall silent, content to watch the other and revel in the fact that we can be together once more. When she asks me, hesitantly, if I’m seeing anyone I just can’t take it anymore. My hands frame her face and she becomes my whole world.

“It’s you Laura, only you, don’t you know this by now?” I ask her, lips desperate to feel hers, skin yearning to slide against hers. She laughs again, the same wet sounding thing that I love, the noise of the desperately relived and outrageously happy.

“Thank goodness, can we just pretend the last three months didn’t happen and you’ll let me be your girlfriend again?” She sighs tiredly and the pain in her eyes and the weariness in her voice tug at my insides. I love this woman. I was a fool to think she wasn’t enough. It’s not a mistake I’ll ever make again.

“Only if you’ll let me be yours,” I whisper, still holding her soft cheeks beneath my coarse palms. Her smile could light the darkest of spaces and when she leans in to kiss me, I welcome the tentative touch of her mouth against mine, and in that single moment I know we’re home.

We start softly, slowly, like baby deer taking our first tentative steps. I nuzzle my nose against hers, mingling breaths together and relishing in the taste of her firm lips against mine. I take her top lip between my own, sucking and pulling on it the way I know drives her crazy, her accompanying moan tells me I’ve still got it right.

Her hands slip behind me, pulling me close, sliding fingers beneath the waistband of my threadbare _The Clash_ t-shirt, that I know she secretly loves, though she always tells me different. She drags me forward, encouraging me to straddle her thighs and press our bodies close together. She arcs her back, pressing in to me, the feel of her tightening nipples against mine a powerful aphrodisiac.

I stumble to my feet, regretting the loss of her body against mine, but the first time we make love in months isn’t going to be on my couch. I slide my fingers between hers and the shy smile she gives me is so endearingly Laura that I’m momentarily left breathless.

She leads us now. Dragging me along into my bedroom, she closes the door behind us and leaves me standing there, watching her every move. She flips on the bedside lamp, and draws back those damn flannel sheets. She slowly strips out of her work clothes, a baby pink oxford shirt and the white bra she has underneath makes me tremble in delight.

I forgot my body could feel this aroused, and like that awful night all those months ago when Laura let me find comfort in her touch I am so hot, and wet and utterly ready for her. She lies back on my bed, an enticing delight and I am in awe of this woman that is mine. I strip of my clothes as I close the distance between us and that first glorious touch of our bodies together is like the awakening of all things.

I slide my thigh between hers, she’s wet and hot and whimpers every time I surge against her. Our fingers entwine, pressed into the sheets above her head, our eyes locking and refusing to look away as we bring each other to a climax. She moans my name and I want to hear that sound over and over again for the rest of our lives. It is the first of many times we reconnect that night, both of us making up for lost time and me finally able to appreciate it.

Later, in the early hours of the following morning, we hold each other, sated and sweaty from our dancing waltz. She presses kisses against my head, and just like those months ago I cry in her arms, my face buried in the soft skin of her neck. She whispers that she loves me that she’ll always be here for me, that she’ll never let me go again. We fall asleep that way, wrapped in each others warmth and I tell myself that everything is going to be okay.

For the first time in a long while I actually believe that it will.

I wake a few hours later, shaking and sweating from a nightmare. But I don’t crave the cheap release I used to, I don’t need it, not with Laura spooned against my back her arm firmly wrapped around my waist, my breast resting in her palm. She’s always been my hero and I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to be hers.

So instead of leaving our bed, I’m simply thankful that we’re together once more and when I close my eyes and fall back to sleep, this time I dream of our shared future and that’s more than enough to keep me sober.

_Fin._

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed. 
> 
>    
> Come say hi at [badaax.tumblr.com](http://badaax.tumblr.com) and help me procrastinate.


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